Thin Ice
by chaipeppermint
Summary: "I don't want to train her," he said, turning towards Madoka. Mai huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared, "Well, maybe I don't want to be trained by you!"


**I am very, very excited to present you the story I've been working on over the past few months: Thin Ice!**

 **Many thanks to the crew for being so supportive throughout the process (find them under GhostHuntHQ on tumblr), especially Elv. You guys have helped me become a better writer and I'm so happy that I became a part of your community.**

 **Anyway, without further ado, I present you the first chapter. Enjoy!**

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Her lungs stung. Prinks of pain emitted from her hands and knees. She had fallen - again. The first few times the padding of her gloves and pants softened the blow. Now wet patches had formed where she kept on hitting the ice. She knew she'd have bruises to match by tomorrow morning.

Usually, she slipped maybe once or twice during training, but Madoka was being harder on her than usual. Demanding one jump after another. Jumps were her problem area so, of course, she fell a lot more. She couldn't remember the last time Madoka had pushed her so hard; the last time she felt like she was going to reach her limit. It was exhausting, to say the least. Standing up, gaining speed, jumping, falling. For a short moment, Mai contemplated simply not getting back up, since she would end up falling again anyway. She was quite sure she could feel her ankles swelling from the pressure they were being exposed to. With a shake of her head, she got rid of the childish thought. Madoka always told her, _no pain, no gain_ when she first started coaching Mai. The phrase was proving to be true once more.

"Mai, come here for a second," Madoka called over the music. Today was the first time Mai had heard the rather fast-paced song. She liked it at first, but she soon started to get sick of it. Now she relished the few seconds of silence before it began playing anew.

She grunted as she pushed herself to her feet, her breath forming mist as it escaped her in short bursts. Mai took her time with dusting the flakes of shaved ice off her pants and gloves, although it didn't make a difference at this point. Her clothes were soaked, intensifying the cold instead of keeping her warm. Taking another moment to calm her erratic breathing, she straightens up and with a push, gliding over to her coach. The cherry-blonde stood just outside the rink, her expression unreadable behind the thick red scarf covering the lower part of her face.

Mai chewed on the inside of her cheek. First Madoka wasn't in the rink with her like usual, then she kept on pushing Mai to do jumps. Madoka was strict - definitely and her training was never easy, but she usually didn't push Mai to the limit. She never pushed Mai too far and she was also never this silent. Something was definitely up.

"What's wrong?" she asked, a crease forming between her eyebrows, deciding that straight out confronting her coach was the best course of action.

"I've had a bit of stressful day," her coach explained, "Listen - I have a... confession to make."

The last time Madoka was this serious was when she confessed that she would not be present for the competition Mai participated in a year ago since she would be gone for three months. Mai ended up in third place, which was great - the real problem had been practicing with another coach. It wasn't like the coach was bad or anything, but he simply hadn't been Madoka. He was too carefree and didn't seem to take Mai or figure skating very serious. Considering it was Mai's dream to go professional, a lax coach didn't cut it. Definitely not one that called her "kid" and told her to "chill". Mai was attuned to Madoka. Learned to read her facial expressions from across the rink and understand what she had done wrong without any further explanation. After five years she couldn't imagine having another coach.

"A friend of mine is coming today. He's a well-known figure skater," Madoka said slowly, "And I'm hoping he will agree to coach you."

" _What?_ " Despite the music, the echo of her voice was audible. Eyes wide and eyebrows raised, Mai frowned, her voice dangerously close to a whine when she spoke, "but Madoka, I don't want another coach!"

"Give him a chance, will you?" Madoka sighed, "Don't you understand that this could be-"

Their discussion was interrupted by the loud squeak of the door being pushed open. With one last warning look, Madoka turned towards the figure approaching them. Making sure that Madoka couldn't see her, Mai rolled her eyes, before following Madoka's gaze.

His long black coat flowed behind him with every step he took. It was easy to believe that he was a successful figure skater. By the way, he appeared graceful yet at the same time in control of his every move. Black strands fell into his dark blue eyes.

It was his eyes that made her recognize him.

"Oliver Davis?" she sounded like she had been punched in the chest; winded, out of breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she swore she saw Madoka smirk.

"Thanks for coming, Oliver," Madoka greeted in English as soon as he was in hearing distance.

He didn't acknowledge the greeting, instead training his gaze on Mai, who smiled. Heat crept up her cheeks and she told herself it's from the cold. Deep down, however, she knew she was quite star-struck. At 19, Oliver was one of the youngest figure skaters to participate in the Olympics and win a medal. His technique is incredible and he is known for his perfect jumps. Often, when training her landings outside of the rink, she watched videos of his competitions.

"Is this her?"

Mai's eyes went wide. He speaks Japanese? She couldn't help but feel relieved. Her English skills weren't the worst, but they could be better.

"Yup," Madoka glanced at Mai, "Will you do it?"

"You know how I feel about this. The only reason I came is because you wouldn't stop bothering me," Oliver replied, still eyeing Mai critically, making her shift uncomfortably.

"I don't want to train her," he said, turning towards Madoka.

Any remaining feelings of wonder immediately fled from Mai's mind. He didn't even seem to consider it. _What a jerk!_

Mai huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared. "Well, maybe I don't want to be trained by you!"

Madoka sighed, bringing a hand up to rub her temple. "Mai, if you would excuse us for a minute. Just -", she waved her hand towards the rink, "entertain yourself. Do your favorite routine, whatever."

Glancing back and forth between her coach and Oliver, she glared at him once more before skating towards the middle of the rink. The song that was playing in the background went silent and another started.

Knowing that an Olympic figure skater was watching (no matter how much of a jerk he was), distracted her, but only for a few moments. With a deep breath, she let years of practice take over, centering her thoughts on the choreography.

The first time Mai saw figure skating on TV, she knew that she wanted to try it. Of course part of it was how glittery the performing outfits are (she was five, alright?), but she also wanted to be able to skate on one leg and twirl around and twist and turn with the same grace that the women on TV did. The performance she had seen that day had been burned into the back of her mind since she saw it. Since it had such impact on her, her first serious competition choreography is based on what she had seen that day, 11 years ago and is therefore also her favorite.

It wasn't as complicated as other routines she had seen, but it didn't have to be. The music was light, soft with deep undertones. Nostalgic in a way; looking back on what used to be, but letting the past be the past.

Mai always imagined herself as a river while skating to this song, her movements fluent and all connected to paint one picture. Since the jumps were only doubles, she a lot performed better than she had just a few minutes ago. Her landings weren't perfect, but she was steady enough to continue on.

As the song came to an end, she couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. Well, it wasn't her worst go through, it definitely was not her best either. With her back facing towards Madoka and Oliver, Mai couldn't tell if they were done talking. Risking a look looking over her shoulder she realized both were already watching her. Madoka waved her over. Mai slowly slid towards them, turning right before she would have hit the banister.

"You need to work on your landings," Oliver commented, "otherwise you will never complete a successful triple."

"Never?" She couldn't believe that she had kind of looked up to such a rude person. He was skilled, but his personality canceled that out in her opinion.

"You don't gain enough speed.", he explains, "Speed is essential to performing a successful jump. Both your speed and landing technique are insufficient."

The worst part wasn't the criticism - criticism was how she learned. It was his tone of voice. He sounded so incredibly bored, it was condescending. People that look down on others were the worst.

"Listen, you narcissistic jerk, at least I can still _skate_ ," Mai snapped. She felt something akin to victory when she saw him flinch, just to be met with Madoka's disappointed expression. Mai clenched her jaw, quickly looking away before she skids over to the rinks exit. The hard guards groaned as she pulled them over her blades in a haste. As soon as they were secured, she stomped over to where she had left her things on a bench.

Tearing at the laces of her skates, she felt the urge to throw them, preferably at that jerks head, but she instead took a deep breath and carefully placed them in her bag. Slipping into her sneakers, she grabbed her bag and went towards the changing room. Now she understood why people always say never meet your idol. It's because when you meet someone famous you'll usually be disappointed.

She had received harsh critic before, but it hurt when it came from someone you might kind of look up to (that was obviously in the past now). And that tone! She deserved at least a bit of respect! Had he never learned to say something good _and_ bad when giving feedback?

It had been a low blow to point out his injury, she reflected, tossing her shirt into her duffel bag. Maybe she should apologize. She sighed - yeah, she needed to apologize if she ever saw him again. At this point though, she assumed it was highly doubtful.


End file.
